He's Not Dead
by Insanity Studios Ink
Summary: He's not dead. How could he be? he has too much will to live, too much fight. How could he possibly be dead? Modern AU Hiccup/Astrid, rated T for mentions of abuse and character death. Angst and Tragedy. You might want to get the tissues ready...
1. Chapter 1

_I decided I wrote too many humorous, happy, fluffy stories, so I decided to try my luck at angst, hurt, sad ones. I feel that I have light-years of space for improvement, so don't be afraid to criticize and flame on this. Of course, if you like it, I would love to hear what you like so I know how to improve. I might just do this a one-shot, or I might add other chapters, but this is just a test. If I'm no good at writing angst, then I'll just stick to fluff and humor. Note: The story is told from Astrid's point of view, is a modern AU, and both Hiccup and Astrid are thirteen. _

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III can't be dead. There's no way he could be. He wouldn't just leave me, not like this. Yet here lies his body, laid on the hospital bed, covered in bruises and his own blood. The sight just makes me sick. I knew his father abused him, but beating Hiccup to death? It wasn't possible. I must be dreaming, but he was real. I could touch him, my hand didn't go through him when I put my hand on his chest, hoping for a heartbeat.

Nothing. The wounds bled no more, he had taken his last ragged breath. Punctured lungs from broken ribs, they said. He couldn't be dead though. He had too much will to live, to conquer, he was too energetic and stubborn to die. He told me he'd die at a ripe old age after a long life married to me, and I believed him. But here lay his unmoving body, a sign that he was no more.

There would be no more midnight 'I love you' texts, no more goofy grins, or lopsided smiles. No more passing notes in school, no more listening to music whilst cuddled on the floor helping each other with homework. No more laughter, no more care-free smiles, no more happiness. No more anything, for he was my life, and my will to live died with him.

How could I have let such a thing happen? How could I have let the love of my life get killed on my watch? I should have said something, gone to the police, done anything to stop this. But I didn't. I don't even know why I didn't tell, but I think it was mostly to do with the interesting fact that he loved his dad, no matter how hard Stoic hit him. He believed until his death that it would all get better someday, someday his dad would stop hitting him and he would have at least one parent. He would have never forgiven himself if his dad was put in jail. Lucky him he's not here to see his dad serve his lifetime sentence.

Mom's trying to get me to go to car, but I'm not responding. I am in shock and everything seems to be going too fast. I let her lead me, almost dragging me, out to the car. I don't sleep well, instead I stare at the ceiling, thinking of Hiccup and all the good times we had together.

Hiccup's funeral is terrible. He would have hated it. Everyone was saying how it was shocking that no one stood up for a poor, abused boy. They all seemed to be talking about his death, not all the wondrous things he did for all the others.

It's my turn to speak. I grab the piece of paper my mom gave me to read, and head to the front. Reaching the podium, I pre-read the speech my mom prepared for me. I huff in disgust and crumple the paper up, throwing it over my shoulder. Gasps erupt all around me and people start muttering. I cleared my throat to gain their attention, and start. "All of you here are saying that someone else should have said something, it was someone else's fault he's dead. All of us are at fault. We all saw him bruised, sometimes every day. You lot keep talking about his death. Well, I'm here to talk about his life. Hiccup, a boy who was in pain every day of his life, was always happy. I never, in all my nine years of knowing him, saw him cry, or look sad, or mope about, or wallow in self-pity, or act depressed. He always had a smile on his face, no matter how much pain he was in. He was there for me when I needed it most, but I was never there for him. He made me happy when I was sad, but I could not do the same for him. No matter how bad my day was, he could always make it better by just his lopsided smile. He was there to let me know that someone loved me, even in my darkest days. He saw a side of me that I kept hidden, and loved me for who I was, and who I would become. He was there for us all. No matter how insignificant our problems were, he would always be there for us, to lean on, to guide and support. We must remember him for who we was, and would have become, not for how he died. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, you will be missed by all."

I didn't even know where the words were coming from, but by the time I was done, I couldn't see through my tears. I sat down amid the stunned audience. I don't know what they expected me to say, but that probably wasn't it. Mom stares at me; I can feel her eyes boring into my skull. That was the most I had said to anyone in about four days.

They lower Hiccup into the ground, and I can't throw the dirt on him. I don't know why, but my body just won't do it. Tears cascade down my cheeks and we watch as dirt is put on his casket. Hiccup's tombstone is just like Hiccup himself, plain and simple, but friendly and warm at the same time. The picture didn't quite get his lopsided smile quite right, and there were places it is chipped already. But it is beautiful, in that Hiccupy way. We put a bouquet of dandelions at the tombstone, his favorite flowers, and left.

 _Wahh! I was crying when I wrote this, so if I have made you cry too (hopefully not from terrible writing), I'd love to hear about it. I think this first chapter was a bit cramped, but immensely powerful. Lots of feels (hopefully) in this, but like I mentioned before, I probably won't make a novel out of this, maybe three chapters max._

 _~Yours in Insanity, Joan McCreedy_


	2. Chapter 2

It's been a week since Hiccup died. The shock and grief has been giving me the most horrendous migraines all week. To make matters worse, my vision has been getting blurry very rapidly, mostly on one side. Mom has already made an appointment with the eye doctor to see if I need glasses. It reminds me of the time that Hiccup told me that he actually needed glasses as well.

000Flashback000

We sat in my room, working on a history project. We weren't quite dating yet, just really good friends. Hiccup was researching some information on New Orleans with my ancient laptop, and I was writing down our notes on a poster board that we'd picked out together. I noticed Hiccup was squinting at the computer screen while he researches, as if he's really tired. When I ask him why, he tells me that he actually needs glasses. "Reading glasses actually, but that they are seventy-five dollars. Dad said we didn't have the money, so I never got them." What? Now I am really confused. His dad made good money as a mechanic, where did it all go? Hiccup wasn't telling me something, there is something he's hiding. I was definitely going to figure it out, before it made his life at home worse than it already was.

000End Flashback000

The police investigation revealed that Stoic was a heavy drinker and gambler. He had gambled away so much money that at times Hiccup had to get a job just to keep some food on the table. Even then, Hiccup sometimes went hungry. But he never complained. I never heard him say he was hungry, and he never scarfed down his food. He sat and quietly ate, never eating a whole lot of food. I don't know how he could stand it, but he did. He acted just like every other kid in the school, except that he was well behaved and polite. How? How did he remain so happy all the time? Pondering this thought, I continue with my chores.

Today is the day that I get my eyes checked to see what is wrong. They will suddenly be bad, then clear up a bit. I sit in the waiting room while the doctor talks to mom, then to me. I tell her about my blurriness, and she looks concerned, almost scared. Like the I-hope-it's-not-what-I-think-it-is look that you hope you will never get from a doctor. We go into the darkroom, with all the machines, and I sit in the chair. "Now place your chin in the chin rest, and look straight at the red hot-air balloons." she says. I follow her instructions, looking at the very out-of-focus red blobs. I hear the clicks of the doctor taking pictures of my eye.

The doctor has a grimace on her face as she leads me to the room with the chart and the eye-clearing-1-2-3-thing. The doctor pokes her head in the room. "Mrs. Hofferson, could you follow me please?" Mom leaves the room, and I wait. About three minutes later, the two enter again, and Mom looks as if somebody hit her in the face with a pan. She plops down in the chair, and looks blankly at me, without any recognition.

"Astrid." the doctor says. "There isn't any kind or gentle way to put this. I think you may have brain cancer." I stare, not understanding. There's no way I could have cancer. No one in our family has cancer. No one in my immediate family smoked. Why would I have cancer? There must be a mistake. I don't here the rest of what the doctor says, just the last bit where she's recommending other doctors to see. "The only way to confirm the cancer is a MRI., so she should get one done as soon as possible. This would also tell us how far the cancer has spread and what stage it's at." The doctor yammers on, and on, and on. I am too much in shock to register her words, so I let Mom carefully steer me to the car again, two times in one week. How could I have cancer?

000After the M.R.I.000

Cancer. What a disgusting, hideous, terrible word. Why would God create such a horrendous thing? The MRI confirmed the eye doctor's suspicion. I have cancer. Brain cancer. Oh wait, it gets better. It has spread all over my cerebrum, my frontal lobe. That is what is causing the blindness and headaches. That is what will, no doubt, kill me. They don't even think I will last a year. Mom started crying silently, tears dripping down her motionless face. I? I am terrified at what will eventually come. The chemotherapy, the surgeries, the chance of dying at any time. But at least I will be with Hiccup and Dad soon.

000Eight months later000

I lay on my white hospital bed with its clean sheets, listening to the cars on the highway. We are waiting for the results from the latest treatment to come in. Doctor Mitty pokes his head in, then enters. Just by the look on his face, I know it didn't work. "It was unsuccessful." he says, turning pages on his clipboard. "It has spread too far, and you are too weak Astrid." I nod, but Mom looks like she might cry. "Thank you doctor. You did your best." I smile a weak smile at him, and sleep.

000A week later000

As I lie on my crisp hospital bed in my room, I know I am dying. I look at Mom, who is sleeping. "Mom. Mom!" she wakes up, and looks at me through eyes rimmed with black rings left by many sleepless nights. "It's time." She nods, and starts crying again. "I don't want a big funeral, just a small memorial service. And I want to be buried next to Hiccup. Please?" She just nods, still crying. I smile at her, and she seems to understand. "Goodbye Mom." She smiles kindly at me, and kisses my cheek. "Goodbye dear." She says. I smile, and pass on.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeee…_

 _And that's it. I'm going to call this quits, so I'm sorry to all the wonderful readers who wanted this to be a story. I am going to continue writing angst though, because I am told that I am good at it. Thank you to all my wonderful supporters, and I hope to see you soon! Also, I am not a cancer patient, nor has any of my immediate family been one, so if I get anything wrong, feel free to holler my way. Thank you again for your support.  
_

 _~Yours in insanity, Joan McCreedy._


End file.
